“You know,” I say. “You don’t need me to be friends with each other.”
Elena smacks her lips together, unbothered. “Yeah, but Quinn, you’re like the glue. On our own, we’re terrible. Joey is a robot. Sophie is emo, and I’m a bitch. You’re the balanced, down-to-earth friend.”
“Hey.” Sophie looks genuinely hurt. “I’m not emo, am I?”
Elena tosses her a look that says,“Do you really not know this about yourself?”
I’m flustered. I know Elena’s words are intended to be funny, but for some reason, they make me feel boxed in, like I only have one role. “I’m not your mom,” I say. “So maybe you should just figure it out.” I turn to leave.
“Wait, don’t go.” Joey suddenly has a firm grip on my arm and a desperate look in her eye. Her touch surprises me. “Just tell me we’d still be friends if it weren’t for the magic,” she says.
I feel their eyes on me. It feels like tiny burns.
“Of course we would,” says Sophie in an almost whisper. I’m glad she answers so I don’t have to. “It will be summer soon. We’ll have plenty of time to be together.”
At that moment, the bell rings, echoing throughout the mauve-tiled room, and I pull my backpack over my shoulder. They watch me without making any moves themselves, and I push down the feeling of guilt that threatens to make me turn and confess everything.
Instead, I say, “Just because I can’t go to a sleepover doesn’t mean we’re not still friends.” Then, without turning back, I shove open the door with my foot and disappear down the hall.
A few minutes later, I’m hurrying away from the school, making sure none of them are watching me as I turn the corner away from my house.
He finds me before I see him. I hear my name from somewhere behind a tree. The way he says it, low and intimate, chases away the guilt I felt lying to my friends.
I stride over to him and look up into those icy eyes. I see hunger there. The same hunger I feel. A sharp wind throws my hair into my face, and he brushes it away. Then he tugs at the loopholes in my jeans until my hips are flush against him. He leans in, and I disappear completely into the kiss, into the softness of his lips, and my guilt dissolves without a trace.
Why have I chosen to spend tonight with him instead of my friends? It’s simple. He understands me. They don’t.
17Sophie
Sophie watches the sunshine pour through the front windows of Aspect Coffee. The tables are worn and from another decade, and the decor is still the same, only somehow grayer. She remembers the small faded painting of the general store that still hangs above the napkins from way back when Barbara owned the coffee shop. The walls are streaked white, a slapdash paint job barely hiding the homey peach color they used to be. It’s all just a little depressing, and Sophie’s reminded again that Joey does not seem to be at her best.
Sophie’s plan today is to supply Joey with resources. She spent the morning trying to forget about Quinn’s haunting blank journal by compiling a list of links and medical articles about PTSD. She even reached out to a grief counselor on Joey’s behalf. It feels important to help, but she must play it carefully so Joey doesn’t react badly.
The bell above the door clatters as Elena comes in. Her white pants and Panama hat make her look put together, but the bruised half-moons under her eyes show an obvious lack of sleep.
Joey texted this morning saying she had something to run by them. Immediately, Sophie texted Elena separately to make sure she wasplanning on coming. It’s important to be here so she can, gently, tell Joey that what she heard in the woods may have been unprocessed grief and to have Elena here as extra support.
“The place looks great,” Sophie says to Joey as they approach the counter. She isn’t sure why she lies, but probably because she hopes to cheer her up a bit.
Elena is dubious. “Can you do an Americano?”
Joey glares at her, and Sophie goes full-on cheerful to try to combat the tension, ordering a chai latte with a sprinkle of cinnamon.
“Anything to eat?”
They survey the baked goods counter. A couple of flat things that look like they could be croissants. A pale tart with what could be cream cheese in the center. A muffin wrapped in plastic. Next to her, Elena says she’s good. Sophie is also unimpressed, but she masks it beneath a pert, “Whatever you recommend.”
They wait at a table by the window. Sophie sips her chai and watches Elena. “So…” she says. “Gael.”
Elena tips her own cup up to her lips, peering into the depths of her espresso as she does, then sets it down again. She looks like she’s about to say something but then checks herself.
Sophie puts her mug down carefully. “You seem to be doing a great job. He’s a sweet kid. Truly.”
“We manage,” Elena says at last, pressing out a smile.
“He’s, how old, fourteen?”
Elena nods without making eye contact.
